


Short But Sweet (and Sometimes Sad or Sexy)

by phandomsub



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Blind Phil Lester, Bullying, Character Death, Disability, Fic 1:, Fic 2:, Fic 3:, Fic 4:, Fic 5:, Ficlet Collection, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomsub/pseuds/phandomsub
Summary: A collection of one-word prompt phan ficlets.





	1. Rainbow

‘There’s a rainbow,’ Dan says. ‘Right over the gym.’

Phil turns his head in its direction, but his gaze lands off to the left.

‘What is it like?’ he asks, shuffling a little closer to his schoolmate on the wooden bench they share. The home bell has long since rang and, as per usual, Phil’s older brother is running late in his beat-up Vauxhall. ‘The colours, I mean.

Describe them to me?’

‘Alright.’ Dan laughs, nervous. Why is he nervous? ‘I’ll try.’

With squinted eyes, he follows the arch through the clearing sky, wondering how he’s supposed to capture its natural beauty with mere words.

‘The bottom two are indigo and violet, but I don’t remember which is which. To be honest, they look pretty much the same.’ He’s butchering this already. Dan runs a hand through his hair, curling from the moisture in the air. ‘They’re pretty, I suppose?’

‘But what are they  _like_?’ Phil asks. He’s grinning - Dan assumes it’s at his incompetence. ‘How would it feel to hold them?’

‘Like velvet.’ Dan’s surprised at the truth of those words, even as they leave his own lips. ‘Yeah, soft and rich. Like a velvet dress.’

‘Huh,’ Phil muses, subconsciously rubbing a thumb against his blazer. ‘Cool. What about the others?’

‘Next is blue,’ Dan says, and he already has something in mind for that one. ‘Like your eyes.’

‘So, useless then?’

‘No,’ he whines. ‘Don’t ruin it, this is embarrassing enough.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ Phil laughs. ‘Blue like…’

‘Like the sea on a hot day. Cool and fresh and-’ His gaze flicks to Phil’s eyes, but of course he doesn’t notice. ‘And calming, safe.’

‘Minus the seaweed wrapping around your foot.’

‘Yeah, minus that.’ Dan’s dimples deepen as he smiles. ‘Then it’s green. Green is mowed grass and sour apple candies and-’

‘I thought apples were red?’

‘Sometimes. Not always.’

‘Huh. Okay. And then?’

‘Yellow.’ Momentarily, Dan closes his eyes, tilts back his head. ‘Yellow is the sun on your face. Warm.’ He opens them again. ‘Then it’s orange and that’s, similar? I guess? Actually, the colour was named after the fruit so I guess it tastes like oranges.’

‘That seems like cheating, but alright.’ Phil’s head drops to lean on Dan’s shoulder. Dan’s heart beats out of his chest. ‘How many others are there?’

‘One,’ Dan says. ‘Red.’

But how does he describe red? He’s used apples, and even then it’s not quite right. What is red? It’s deep, it’s intense, it’s passionate, but what  _is it_? Fleetingly, blood comes to mind, but no, that’s not right. It’s the point of  _having_  blood, of wanting it to continue pumping through your veins. It’s-

‘Red,’ Dan repeats, voice quivering a little, ‘feels like this.’

Slowly, so slowly, he cups Phil’s face. Enough that Phil has ample time to pull away, but instead he straights up into it, faces his best friend. Dan’s breathing hitches as he runs his thumbs across Phil’s soft cheeks. Then, ever so softly, he kisses him.

Their lips linger through each gush of breath, the world spinning around them. With his eyes closed Dan feels nothing but Phil, and sees only red.

‘I…I like that one,’ Phil says when they finally pull away. ‘Think that one’s my favourite.’


	2. Daddy

‘Da-Daddy.’

Dan’s eyes go wide. A split second later, so do Phil’s. They both stare at the small child at their feet, tiny fingers struggling to grab at colourful building blocks.

‘Oh my God,’ Phil says, disturbing the sudden quiet. Or rather what passes as quiet, nowadays — namely, their sons’ happy, nonsensical babbling. ‘He…he spoke.’

‘Holy shi-’ Dan censors himself just in time. ‘He did!’

Crouching down, Phil takes the child’s entire hand with his pinky and bounces it playfully, grinning like mad.

‘Say it again, Harrison,’ he coos. ‘Say daddy.’

But of course, the boy is having none of it. He blows a few raspberries before returning to his toys. Dan joins his family on the floor.

‘Thank God we were here for it,’ he gushes.

‘I know,’ Phil agrees. ‘What if I’d missed the first time he called for me?’  
The serene expression flushes from Dan’s face. Frowning, he looks up at his husband.

‘Excuse me?  _I’m_  daddy, not you.’

‘What? No, you’re papa, remember?’

‘No, I am not,’ Dan scoffs. ‘If you recall, it was too “weird” for you to be called daddy after all that sh- stuff online.’

‘Harry, who were you talking to?’ Phil asks the disinterested boy. ‘Me? Or Papa?’

 ‘Oh, real funny.’ Dan’s voice shifts up an octave, or five. ‘Harry, darling. Look at me. Look at daddy.’

‘Harry!’

‘ _Haaaarry_.’

There’s a scraping of swinging plastic, followed shortly by excited panting and sharp nails on floorboards. Harry’s head shoots up as their golden retriever bounds into the room.

‘Daddy!’ he cries, reaching to the dog with grabby hands. The quiet returns.

‘Okay,’ Dan finally says. ‘That’s fair.’


	3. Neko

‘I can’t believe you actually touched this stuff without gloves,’ Dan says, nose wrinkling as he prods the badly disguised nappy box with a timid finger. ‘You’re probably diseased now, or something.’

‘Anything for the views,’ Phil jokes, picking the box up from where it sits beside Dan on his AmazingPhil-set bed and dumping it in the corner. ‘The other two weren’t actually too bad, though.’

As if to make that decision for himself, Dan drags one of the other mystery boxes closer to him. He’s peering into it when Phil walks back over to the bed, hands outstretched to take it to rest in the junkheap.

‘Wait a second,’ Dan says, tugging the cardboard back and reaching inside. ‘What’s that?’

He drags out something long and pink that jingles as it swings from his fingers. Phil laughs softly.

‘A cat collar,’ he says. ‘Don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. Know anyone with a kitten? Or a neko kink?’

Phil reaches for the box again; this time he’s stopped by Dan’s free hand wrapping around his wrist. Phil looks back towards him, freezing at the cheeky glint in Dan’s eyes – he knows that look, and it usually means either trouble or very good sex. Or sometimes both.

‘I can think of someone,’ Dan says, grinning.

‘W-What?’ Phil stutters lightly, the tips of his ears dusting pink.

‘You’d think after thirty years of life, you’d be better at clearing your search history,’ Dan says, slowly rising to his feet; he tugs Phil closer, whose feet stumble a little.

‘I don’t…’ Phil says, blushing in earnest now, ‘I mean, I was just curious, I don’t-‘

‘Shh,’ Dan hushes, letting go of Phil’s wrist to press a finger to his lips. ‘Quiet, kitten.’

Phil falls silent immediately. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing as Dan gently loops the cat collar around it. The tiny bell tinkles as the clasp fastens tightly behind his neck. Phil’s eyelashes flutter.

‘You look so pretty in this,’ Dan says, stroking the collar with his thumbs. ‘Such a good pet. Can you be my good pet?’

Phil lets out a shaky breath and nods.

‘Good,’ Dan says, leaning forward to whisper in Phil’s ear. ‘Because if you are, I’ll make you purr.’


	4. Paper

It starts with a piece of paper.

Phil finds it in his locker on Tuesday. It’s folded and has obviously been slid through the thin crack around the door. It’s in there when he opens it to put his schoolbag away and he watches, confused, as it flutters to the floor. He picks it up, thumbing it open with one hand as the other pushes his glasses back up his nose. There’s something written on it in scratchy handwriting. He has to read it three times to be sure.

_You’re beautiful._

Phil looks down the hallway either side of him, wondering who’s playing a prank on him this time.

 -

There’s another one on Wednesday.

Phil’s just as surprised to find it as he was the first. He doesn’t understand the game – nobody has come forward to mock him about fooling him into thinking he has a secret admirer yet. He supposes they must be doing it as some kind of running joke, but it’s hard to believe, honestly. Their attention spans aren’t usually that long.

Phil opens this one a bit more cautiously. He reads it twice.

_You look great in black._

He really doesn’t get the joke.

 -

He finds Thursdays after he’s spent lunch alone behind the portable classrooms.

_You should smile more._

Phil puts it back in his locker with the others, noting that whoever is doing this is committed, not to mention consistent. They’ve even used the same paper every day – obviously torn from a novelty notepad, decorated with little Pokéballs. At least whoever is trying to mess with him knows his interests. That’s more than he can say for most people.

He almost takes its advice as he closes his locker.

 -

Friday’s makes him blush, despite himself.

_Your ass looks great in those jeans._

He bites his lip as he tugs down his sweater. After a moment, he pulls it back up again. Just in case.

 -

Monday, he’s expecting it and isn’t disappointed.

_I missed seeing your pretty face over the weekend._

Phil grins. His heart thuds as he realises he’s missed the notes, too. He adds the paper to the pile and closes his locker. He’s still smiling when he takes his seat alone in class.

 -

On Tuesday, Phil is so keen to get to his locker that he’s not even watching where he’s going. He runs straight into someone, hard enough that he nearly falls to the floor. He catches himself just in time, but can’t say as much for the persons’ books.

‘Oh, crap,’ he squeaks, watching as the belongings scatter across the hallway floor. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – let me get them.’

He bends down to anxiously gather up the books before even bothering to check who they belong to. Not that it would make much of a difference, really – it’s not like it’s going to be a  _friend_ , or anything. He’s almost got everything in a haphazard pile when he sees it.

The notebook decorated with Pokéballs.

Phil freezes, hand halfway to grabbing it. He looks up to meet two warm, brown eyes.

‘Guess you’ve caught me, huh?’

It’s Dan Howell. Phil’s stomach churns. Dan’s friends with the kids that like to pick on him, but Phil had always thought he was…different. Kinder. Softer. Someone who didn’t join in on the cruel jokes. Phil supposes he was wrong – he was probably just blinded by how stupidly attractive he is.

‘You’ve been leaving the notes,’ Phil says flatly.

‘Yeah,’ Dan says, crouching down to Phil’s level with a crooked smile. ‘I’m guessing you were hoping for someone better?’

‘What?’ Phil says, confused.

‘You look disappointed,’ Dan says, picking up the notepad with one hand, sliding the other into his pocket.

‘W-What?’ Phil stutters again, dumbly. ‘No, I’m – you were–‘

‘Well, here,’ Dan says, pulling out a pen and using it to scrawl across the page. ‘Take this, just in case you decide I’m not too disappointing after all.’

He tears off the paper and hands it to Phil, who takes it numbly. He stares at it while Dan gathers up his pile of books. By the time Phil’s read it five times, just to be sure, Dan is gone. He glances around for a moment, dazed, before looking back at the note.

Ten numbers, followed by  _call me ;)_


	5. Flowers

Phil looks around at the colourful array of flora that surround him. There are so many flowers – shelves and shelves of them, all vivid and flourishing, beautiful and alive. It’s almost overwhelming. He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s instinctively drawn to the large sunflowers in the window of the florist but, no, that’s not right. Dan doesn’t like sunflowers. Phil remembers him saying that once. He can’t afford to make a mistake like that – it’s a one year anniversary, so it’s crucial he gets this right. Phil moves on from the big, yellow flowers to the long line of roses.

There’s a wide selection of them, more than any of the others. They come in so many colours; white, pink, red, orange, lavender. Phil strokes the soft petal of one of the dark red roses. It’s lovely, in an aesthetic way, but Dan would probably find it too cliché.  _If only they came in black_ , Phil thinks, smiling fondly. He shakes his head, drifting to the other end of the shop.

He’s looking at a bouquet of lilies when he spots them. They’re only a small bunch, wrapped up neatly in plain white paper, yet they still stand out, somehow. Phil isn’t sure why at first – he can’t quite put his finger on why the powder-pink pigment reminds him so strongly of Dan. It’s not particularly his style, and certainly not his favourite colour. It’s only when Phil ghosts his fingertip gently across the fragile flower that he realises. It’s the blush in Dan’s cheeks. It’s the pink that tints his skin when he laughs, when he’s said something silly, when Phil lays him down between the sheets. Phil looks at the cursive name on the small chalkboard: carnations.

He carries them cradled gently in his arms as he leaves the shop, the bell above the door tinkling behind him. They lay safe on his lap as he rides the bus, watching the world blur past outside. The waxy paper becomes damp with a sheer perspiration as Phil walks across the grass. He sees Dan every day, yet somehow he’s still always nervous. Today especially, on the one year anniversary.

‘Hey, Danny,’ Phil says, smiling softly. ‘Sorry I’m late. But I got you flowers. I know you don’t normally like doing stuff like this, but I just thought, y’know, today. Since it’s–‘

Phil swallows, exhales. He kneels down on the concrete and reaches out, lightly placing the flowers on top of the sleek black marble of the grave.

‘I just…’ he tries again. ‘I wanted to do something special. Because it’s been a year and I–‘

Phil’s words cut off as his throat closes over. His watery blue eyes linger on the photograph framed in the headstone. The smiling boy –  _his_  smiling boy – with the pink carnations in his cheeks.

‘And I love you,’ Phil whispers.

He loses the battle with his tears that he’s not truly fighting. They drip, one by one, to the ground.

‘I’ll always love you.’


End file.
